


Bringer of the Dawn

by CKBookish



Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Bruce Wayne is an idiot, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson becomes Nightwing, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Robin's firing, The Joker shoots Dick, UNCLE CLARK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22202743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CKBookish/pseuds/CKBookish
Summary: The Aftermath of when the Joker shoots Dick.orWhere do you go when your family tells you to get out?
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Clark Kent
Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590904
Comments: 23
Kudos: 517





	Bringer of the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Part four of Batman Bingo 2020: Superman!

_If I forget who I am tomorrow will you tell me?_

_Will you remind me what it takes to be me?_

_Will you point out the things my eyes can’t see?_

* * *

Bruce sat holding a thick piece of gauze. The blood had long dried and become brown and flaky. Alfred had not yet returned to the Batcave. He had followed Dick as he ran up the stone steps. Bruce wondered if when he went up stairs the butler would still be there. His eyes were burning from tears he refused to let fall. Dick would cool down _. He’ll be back. It will be.... No, this was better. He would be better off away from all this._

His cheekbone ached. He would have a bruise tomorrow. He deserved it. A bruise didn’t seem high enough a price to pay. 

Bruce glanced around the Batcave, he eyed the trophies he and Dick collected over the years. The Joker Card, Mechanical Dinosaur, the Penny, Riddler’s cane, each marked a moment of Batman and Robin’s partnership. Bruce had done it alone before. _For only a couple years._ Bruce pushed his doubt aside. He could do it again. He would have to. If one thing had been absolutely clear over the years, it was that Bruce couldn’t _not_ be Batman. It was much too late for him. But Dick. Dick could have a normal life. He could be anything. No, this was for the best. 

Bruce had fooled himself into believing he could have both, his mission and a family. Dick deserved better. This mission only would end one way. Bruce had always known that. But he had been weak, allowing his judgement to be clouded. He couldn’t protect Robin, so he would protect Dick Grayson. 

Bruce swallowed down the burning that was climbing its way up his throat and threw away the gauze. 

Alfred was not in the kitchen, or the study. Bruce steadied his hands as he made his way through the Manor searching for the man. Alfred wasn’t in his private rooms, or in the library. _Losses come in twos. Two parents dead, and his surrogate father and son. No don’t assume, evidence comes before a conclusion._

Bruce made his way slowly up the marble stairs. They felt too quiet without laughter echoing down them. Bruce walked past a photo of last Christmas without looking at it. If he saw Dick’s face he would break. He would run after him. Tell him he hadn’t meant any of it. If he saw his face, Bruce would make the selfish choice. He had been selfish for too long. His eyes were determinedly fixed on the banister. He could almost imagine Dick at eight years old sliding down it. 

Alfred was sitting on Dick’s bed. The room was so unlike any other in the Manor. Every corner of the room screamed Dick Grayson. The pillows, curtains and throws were all wildly clashing colors and room had … Bruce frowned at the lack of the Haly’s Circus poster. It had hung in the same spot for nine years. As he looked around Bruce could see other heirlooms missing. A quilt that had been in the Grayson family for three generations was no longer folded at the base of the bed, the closet doors were left open revealing empty hangers and only formal shoes had been left behind. 

“I have _never_ been more disappointed in you.”

Bruce started, he had forgotten Alfred was in the room. 

Alfred stood and began straightening the items left behind. His back pointedly turned to Bruce. A dismissal if Alfred had ever given one. Bruce closed the door behind him as he stepped into the hall. Alfred would understand, someday. He would see. This was better.

* * *

The car sputtered just West of Zanesville Ohio. Dick hadn’t stopped. No destination in mind. Maybe he was heading to Central City. Maybe he would drive all the way to San Francisco. Dick felt numb. The car shook. He looked down at the dash board for the first time. Empty. No more gas and Dick didn’t know where he was going. He coasted along the shoulder of the highway until the Porsche came to a stop. He hadn’t even realized what car he had taken. The old Porsche had been the first car Bruce let him drive-- besides the Batmoblie-- by himself. He oddly wanted to wreck it. Wanted to take a bat to the tail lights and key the doors. 

Dick sat staring at the road. Ahead of him was a blank canvas. He could go anywhere. He had nothing and no one to tie him to Gotham City. For the first time in nine years he couldn’t call Wayne Manor his home. He wondered what his parents would think. 

He felt a sudden pang his chest. His parents were buried in Gotham. He should have said goodbye. But he hadn’t wanted to stop. He’d barely paused to pack. Alfred had gotten most of his things together for him. 

Dick knew there was no spare tank of gas in the trunk. He pulled out his phone and half dialed Bruce’s number out of habit before he stopped. 

Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead into the steering wheel. Tears that had been threatening to spill for the better part of four hours finally fell. 

_“No! You’re done. This was a mistake. You’re fired. Get out.”_

_“What? B. It’s not even that bad. What are you talking about?” Dick sat holding a piece of gauze over the bullet wound. Comprehension failing him. He’d suffered much worse than a single bullet to the shoulder before._

_“I should have done it years ago. You, just don’t have what it takes. Robin is done.”_

Dick didn’t remember hitting Bruce, but his knuckles were split. His shirt had dried blood stuck to it. He peeked under his collar. He hadn’t let Alfred give him stitches and Dick didn’t think there was a med-kit in the car. He would have to buy one. Dick’s lip shook as he realized he had no money. All of his savings from his sporadic summer jobs was in his Gotham account. But he had very little. He had never needed to worry about maintaining a good summer gig, not with his work as Robin. Not with Bruce’s black card. Dick didn’t have more than twenty dollars in his wallet. 

He would be 18 in a couple months. He should have seen it coming. There had always been a timer on his life at Wayne Manor. He’d been blinded by trust. He’d assumed he meant more to Bruce than a simple ward. Dick wouldn’t make that mistake again. He had lost his family years ago and failed to understand what that really entailed. Dick was ahead in his classes anyway. He could call and get his diploma right now. Dick would, get a job. He would… the phone shook in his hand. 

Wally. He could call Wally. Wally would let him crash on the couch. Wally would hug him and tell him life as a civy wouldn’t be so bad. 

Dick bit his lip as his thumb hovered over Wally’s name. Dick didn’t know how to be a civilian. The Circus hadn’t been a standard life, and after that he’d been Robin. Dick didn’t know how to not be… Robin. 

Wally had a life before. A life he simply returned to. Dick couldn’t go back to being a Flying Grayson. Not when all the others were dead. 

No what Dick wanted most right now was Bruce, and yet that was the one thing he couldn’t have. Dick leaned back into the soft leather of the chair and began to delete Bruce’s number. There written under Bruce’s name was the answer. The answer was so glaringly obvious now. He had made his choice without thinking, without knowing. 

“Dick?” Clark Kent’s voice was quiet, whispered. 

“He kicked me out.” Dick could just make out Lois mumbling something. 

“Where are you?”

“Ohio, I think. I ran out of gas.” Dick finished lamely. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Ok, I will be there in three.” The line didn’t go dead like Dick expected.

“Hey.” Lois’s voice was thick like she had been asleep. Dick looked at the clock, it was 4:23 am, she probably had been. 

“Hey.”

“I’m working on an article. Do you want to hear about it?” She sounded unsure of herself. Dick normally did most of the talking when he was over at the Kents. 

“Sure.” 

Dick listened without hearing, her words washing over him like a soothing balm. Until Clark tapped on his window. 

Dick opened the door and found himself pulled to his feet. The movement reminded him why he had been fired in the first place. His shoulder suddenly was on fire. 

“I gotcha.” Clark placed his hand against the wound putting pressure on the still slightly bleeding hole and pulled Dick to his chest. “You have a bag?” 

Dick nodded against him, he suddenly felt so tired. He wanted to sleep for a year. 

* * *

Dick woke to the sun streaming through yellow curtains embroidered with white, lace flowers. The room was small, but cozy. He had a colorful quilt draped over him. The Kent farm was a familiar place, one Dick had visited often over the years. If he strained his ears he could just make out the sound of the cows in the back field. Dick padded down to the kitchen his bare feet smacking against the worn wood floor.

Clark was sitting at the table a plate of eggs and a cup of coffee sitting in front of the empty chair next to him. Dick sat and pulled the drink to him. The mug was piping hot. He wondered if Clark had used his heat vision on it. 

“I got the car and the rest of your things.” Clark was sitting oddly still as if afraid to spook him.

Dick nodded, staring into the black liquid.

Superman sighed. “Dick, what happened?”

“I messed up. He fired me, again. But I think it's for real this time.” Dick hated how his voice cracked.

“You said he kicked you out. Did he kick you out of the cave or the house?”

“Same thing.”

“I don’t--”

“I turn 18 soon anyway.”

“Yeah, but--”

“Foster care _ends_ at 18.” Dick’s voice sounded flat and lifeless.

“Do you not _want_ to live there?” Clark’s words were measured. Controlled.

“I… No. I don’t know how.” _I don’t know how to be there and not be Robin. I don’t know who Dick Grayson is without it._

“Ok.” Clark pushed the plate closer to Dick.

Dick ignored it but sipped the coffee. It was the same coffee Clark always had. A Maxwell blend. Bruce always called it dirt in a can. Dick liked it anyway but it tasted bitterer than normal. 

“Did you apply for colleges? I don’t remember you saying before.” Clark’s voice was low, like how Superman talked to a shock victim or like how he talked to an upset horse.

“I did, well Bruce...” Dick choked on the name. “ I don’t want to go. I can’t pay for it anyway.”

“That won't be a problem. Bruce set aside a trust fund for you, years ago.”

“I don’t want it. I don’t want anything that he....” Coffee spilled as Dick set it down too hard.

Clark didn’t move. Simply sat in the silence. Dick eventually turned to his eggs. The scrap of his fork the only noise in the house. When the plate was empty Clark picked it up and took it to the sink. The faucet squealed as he turned it on. 

Dick licked his lips. His mind at war with itself. 

“I’ve been thinking about…” he swallowed another mouthful of coffee. It seemed slightly sweeter. He could just taste the sugar.

“Yeah?” Clark tilted his head towards him. He reminded Dick of a dog listening to sounds that the human ear couldn’t. Clark turned the faucet off, and moved to face him. 

“I want to be a cop. But I also want to still… not as Robin. But I don’t want to give it up.” Dick looked back at the cup. He hadn’t ever said the thought aloud before. Bruce would have shot it down. Dick was supposed to go to business school. Was supposed to take over Wayne Enterprises. But he had never wanted… well it didn’t matter now. 

“You’ll be a great police officer and you are a great hero, no matter what you call yourself. The mask doesn’t make you _you_. Your choices do.” 

Dick’s head shot up. Clark was smiling at him. Dick didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to express how much it meant to him that Clark would still believe in him. Maybe Dick hadn’t lost his whole family, not this time anyway. The circus taught him that family didn’t have to be your own blood. He thought that Bruce had understood that too. But looking at the Kryptonian next to him, he knew. Clark understood. He knew what it meant to make a family out of the ashes of the last one. 

Dick smiled, it wasn’t his normal grin, but that would come back. 

“Have I ever told you the Kryptonian legend of Nightwing and Flamebird?”


End file.
